


Birthday Boy

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthdays are bad. Birthdays are for people, not for supersoldiers made in a lab. Unless Natasha gets a say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Boy

**Author's Note:**

> A happy 99th birthday to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes~

He’d been staring at the floor since midnight.

Natalia wasn’t home. She was wrapping up and assignment tonight and wouldn’t be home until later. He stayed perched on the foot of the bed and just...stared.

March 10th.

He’d tried to forget that date, tried not to dwell on what it meant, what it had been forced to mean. Before HYDRA, the day was a good one. He had brief flashes of paper hats on his and Steve’s head, waitresses at a bar kissing his cheek while someone took a picture, carrying a drunk little Steve over his shoulder while he hollered back at the men he’d almost fought that no meant no, falling asleep on the couch with his head in his lap and the headache the next day was incredible, but it was good. It was all so good.

But those flashes and warmth were erased over and over again.

“Today…”

“What about it?” Pierce’s voice was so sharp and accusing.

“Today’s my birthday.”

“You don’t have a birthday. People have birthdays, but not you. You aren’t a person, you weren’t ever born, you were made. You don’t have a birthday.”

“Yes I do. It’s today. It’s March 10, 19-”

“Son, you listen to me right now-”

“I have a birthday!” He’d lashed out, struck the people closest to him.

“Fuck! Wipe him. Wipe him now!”

He shuddered, clenching his metal arm.

That happened a lot. His head was shoved under water, he was beaten for hours on end, cut and whipped while they mocked him and sang happy birthday.

He sniffed now, tears in his eyes. No. No birthdays. No more of them, he didn’t want anymore, not ever.

He hugged himself, rocking a little. “You’re not a person. You’ll never be a person. You weren’t born you were made. You aren’t real, you’re just a weapon!”

He shut his eyes tighter, shaking his head. The reminder attached to him was too much for him to bear right now. Lost in the yelling, in phantom pain, in every instinct telling him not to acknowledge today, he didn’t hear the door open. He didn’t hear Natalia call from the kitchen that she was home, or that she wanted him to come to her.

“James?” She peered into the bedroom, her smile fading when she saw him. “James, hey, hey, look at me,” she urged, kneeling in front of him and turning his chin.

Bucky opened his eyes, and they were broken, terrified. He looked so young, too exposed, too vulnerable, too afraid to be out in the open like this. Natasha’s frown deepened.

“Tiger, what’s wrong?” She breathed. “Come on, tell me. You shouldn’t cry on your birthday-”

“NO!” He yelled, shaking his head hard and covering his face. “No, no, no.”

“Whoa, hey, hey, Tiger, what’s wrong?” She urged. “What’s the matter?” He didn’t answer, still hiding from her. She rubbed slow circles on his back, trying to coax the shivers from him. “Shh...okay. Okay, it’s okay,” she promised. “Is it your birthday?”

He whimpered and nodded, sniffling.

“Did they...did they hurt you for remembering?” She asked. He didn’t move this time, just sobbed aloud once. “Okay. Okay, Tiger, shh…” She took him in her arms, holding the back of his head.

“Come with me,” she said after a moment. “Come with me for just a minute.”

“Natalia-”

“I promise you, everything’s going to be okay,” she whispered, smiling just a little. “доверие мне, Джеймс.”

He did trust her. With his life, with his well-being. It took a moment for him to remember how to move. He stood slowly, keeping a tight hold on her hand with his own, the metal one clenched tight at his side.

She led him into the dim kitchen, walking around to the island in the middle. On it sat a vanilla cupcake with pink frosting, a lit candle sticking out of the top. Natasha smiled.

“Happy birthday, Tiger.”

He softened, some of the fear drifting away, making room for the good things he remembered again. Warm feelings with cake and ice cream and people who didn’t want to hurt him. And now Natalia. Of course.

“Make a wish,” she urged, smiling a little more.

He leaned over, closed his eyes, and blew.

James opened his eyes and Natasha was beaming, taking the candle out and pushing a small wrapped package toward him.

“For me?” He asked, picking it up gingerly. She nodded.

“Of course for you, it’s your birthday.”

He cringed just a little with the word but opened it carefully, in case he might break it.

It was a bolt, and a little piece of metal preserved in a glass case. He cocked his head, looking at her with his pouty frown.

“That’s what’s left of the machine,” she said softly. “And the cryotank.” His eyes grew, and he looked at the little box. “That’s where I was all day. Taking care of that. They can’t be used again, not ever. Not on anyone. Not on you.”

He looked back at her and gently set it down, blinking. She faltered.

“If, if it was wrong, I can-” He was around the counter and kissing her in seconds, holding her tight. The machinations in his arm whirred.

She gripped him just as tight, kissing him back with as much heat and passion as he’d given her.

“Thank you,” he whispered, cupping her face. “Thank you very much.” She smiled a little.

“No problem, Tiger. Happy birthday.”

For once it was.

Minutes later they were shoving cupcake in each other’s faces and running around the apartment, ending up in a tickling match on the rug where they later fell asleep.

James was smiling still, the little box on the coffee table, the night joined with his other happy memories of what birthdays were supposed to be like.

 


End file.
